


Midnight call

by EbbaTriesToWrite



Series: The Old Guard - tumblr request fills [9]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Suicide, very briefly though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbbaTriesToWrite/pseuds/EbbaTriesToWrite
Summary: “Are you in danger?” again, nothing but panting breaths are heard in response, “Booker? Are you hurt?”“No. I’m fine.” Booker manages eventually, “Just-” he curses again, “Nightmare. You were hurt. I needed-” he trails off.“Needed to make sure we were okay.” Nicky concludes, some of the heat in his veins cooling down slightly, “We’re okay.” he assures softly but it doesn’t seem to calm Booker down any.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Series: The Old Guard - tumblr request fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881205
Comments: 95
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

Nicky is roused from sleep by the sound of a phone ringing. He blearily reaches for it on the bedside table and hushes the little whines Joe lets out at his movements as he clicks accept. There’s nothing but laboured breathing coming through the line and he frowns in confusion, quickly pulling the phone from his ear to check the number, it’s not one he recognises.

“Hello?” he says, cringing at the way his voice cracks.

_ “Nicky?”  _ he lurches upright at the familiar voice, worry and anger mingling into one. 

“Booker?” Nicky feels Joe sit up next to him but he’s far more focused on the panting and choked off sobs he hears through the phone, “Are you alright?” 

_ “Are you safe?”  _ Booker ignores the question.

“Yes.” it comes out as more of a question than an answer and he feels dread slink its way up his spine, “What did you do?” 

_ “What?”  _ Booker’s still breathing heavily, his voice sounds raw and scared,  _ “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”  _ it sounds like he means it, like he needs Nicky to believe him,  _ “I just-”  _ something is clattering to the ground and Booker curses under his breath,  _ “I just needed to know.”  _

“What’s going Book?” Nicky runs a hand over his eyes, he’s still not fully awake, “You still there?” he asks when Booker doesn’t respond. 

_ “Yeah.” _ his voice sounds faint now,  _ “Fuck. Can’t breathe. ’M sorry.” _

“Are you in danger?” again, nothing but panting breaths are heard in response, “Booker? Are you hurt?” 

_ “No. I’m fine.”  _ Booker manages eventually,  _ “Just-”  _ he curses again,  _ “Nightmare. You were hurt. I needed-”  _ he trails off.

“Needed to make sure we were okay.” Nicky concludes, some of the heat in his veins cooling down slightly, “We’re okay.” he assures softly but it doesn’t seem to calm Booker down any. 

_ “Good.”  _ he still says,  _ “I’m sorry.”  _

Nicky thinks that would be it, that he’d be able to go back to sleep, but instead he hears the phone hit the floor, and then; a gunshot and a heavy thud. He startles so violently at the sound that Joe has to reach out and steady him. 

“Booker?” he yells into the phone, “Booker are you alright?” 

He waits for what feels like hours, unable to answer the rushed questions Joe is asking him, too stunned and confused to form any words. His phone is pressed tightly against his face and he can feel the condensation on it from his own body heat and he only pulls it away when he hears the call disconnect.

“Nicolo?” Joe places a hand to his cheek, making him turn to face him, “What is it?” 

“I think Booker’s in trouble.” he slings his legs over the edge of the bed, “I heard him get shot, we need to find him.” 

It only takes a quick call to Copley to get Booker’s address and Nicky is thankful for the small blessings, they’re in the same country at least and they get in the car to drive to Paris. He relays what he heard over the phone on the way and the rest of the drive is spent in a tense silence, only broken by the robotic voice giving them directions. 

They climb the stairs of the run down apartment building and the door to Booker’s apartment is unlocked and they pull out their guns as they search it. They find the bedroom and Nicky’s heart skips a beat at the sight of blood and brains on the bed. He catches Joe’s eyes briefly and sees his own worry reflected in those dark eyes of his. They step out of the room to keep searching the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” Nicky startles at the voice, brows furrowing at the sight of Booker stood with a toothbrush in his hand and foam around his mouth.

“You’re okay.” he takes a step towards him before freezing, “I heard you get shot.”

“Oh.” the right corner of Booker’s lip tugs upwards ever so slightly, “That.” He ducks back into the room he came out of and Nicky hears him spit into the sink and then some water running and being turned off before he’s back, “It was nothing.” 

“Care to explain?” Joe snaps but Nicky can hear the concern in his voice.

“The best way to stop a panic attack is to just-” he raises his hand in the shape of a gun and holds it to his temple, flicking his fingers up as if taking a shot, and grins for a moment before he turns serious, “Sorry I scared you, I was a bit confused when I woke up from the nightmare. Didn’t intend for you to come all this way.” 

“You killed yourself?” 

“Don’t look so surprised.” Booker laughs, he fucking  _ laughs.  _

“Wha-” 

“Oh you guys are serious.” Booker interrupts, trying and failing to stop smiling, “You do know I’ve killed myself more times than I’ve been killed by anyone or anything else, right?” 

“Why would you-” Joe stops himself, “What if it worked?”

“Then I’d get what I want.” Booker shrugs, looking at them as if they’re crazy.

“But what about us?” Nicky hates how small his voice sounds, “We wouldn’t even get to say goodbye or anything. How do you think that would make us feel?” 

“You’d be sad for a while, I guess.” Booker walks past them to shrug on his coat, “You’d get over it.” he turns to his shoes, “I’m sorry to cut this short but I’ve actually got a job I need to get to. It was good to see you though.” 

And with that, he leaves Joe and Nicky in the silence of his tiny apartment. Neither of them knowing what to say. 


	2. Chapter 2

For the whole day, Booker felt like everything was off beat, everything was tilted ever so slightly and he could barely focus on stacking the grocery aisles. His coworkers noticed and he waved away their concerns. He couldn’t even begin to explain why his hands kept shaking and he cursed Nicky and Joe for showing up like they had. But more than anything he cursed himself for calling in the first place. 

He had ninety years to go damn it and he had planned to stick to it, they deserved that from him at the very least. They didn’t need to come all this way simply because he had a nightmare. He couldn’t get their expressions out of his head though, the concern and horror mingling together in a way that didn’t make sense to him. 

He bought a bottle of bourbon as he clocked out that evening and he considered if he should start drinking on the walk back home but there were too many people around. You’d have thought that after all this time that he’d stop caring about what others thought of him but he still did, no matter how much he resented it. 

It was only as he started climbing the stairs to his apartment that he realised he didn’t have any food and he groaned, his scattered brain was getting worse. But when he pushed his door open he was greeted by a rich, creamy smell with a tinge of bacon and his steps stuttered ever so slightly.

  
“You’re still here.” he said dumbly when he walked into his kitchen and saw Joe stirring a pot as Nicky chopped up some vegetables.

“Of course we are.” Nicky said, tone disturbingly natural.

“That’s really not as obvious as you think it is.” he couldn’t help but scoff and beelined for one of the cupboards and pulled out a glass to pour himself a drink. 

“You expected us to leave after what you told us this morning?” Joe exclaimed in disbelief and Booker snorted.

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” he took a sip and glanced into the pot, “Carbonara?” 

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Nicky rudely ignored his question and Booker rolled his eyes, “Of course it matters, you killed yourself last night!” 

“It’s nothing new.” he pulled the ladle out of Joe’s loose grip and took a taste of the sauce, and sure enough, it was carbonara, “Tastes good.” 

They just stared at him, dumbstruck, and Booker shrugged, too tired to try and figure them out and grabbed them some plates and cutlery to set the table. They seemed to have trouble finding what to say because they went back to cooking and soon enough the three of them were seated at the table, awkwardly staring at each other as they ate.

“We looked into some medications that might help with your nightmares.” Nicky said after a while and Booker felt nausea pool in his gut even as his chest felt warm at the prospect of them trying to help.

“I’d rather not.” 

“Oh come on Book!” Joe groaned, “You’ve gotta do something, killing yourself like this isn’t healthy.” 

“It doesn’t mat-”

“Don’t say it doesn’t matter.” Nicky practically growled and pulled out his phone to show him some medical website, “I’m sure we can figure out a dose that’ll work on you and-”

“I’m not gonna take any drugs.” Booker shook his head and rose to his feet to gather up their dishes, “Been there, done that.” 

“What? When?” Nicky asked, surprised. 

“Back in the 60s’, I think,” he focused on the motions of rinsing off their plates, “I got put in a mental hospital and they kept me drugged up, not a fan. Rather not do it again.”

He was glad that it rendered them speechless but it didn’t last long enough in his opinion before Nicky spoke up again, “Drugs are better now and it won’t be like that.”

“I said no.” he turned off the tap and grabbed the bourbon and took a swig straight from the bottle, “I got my medication right here.” 

“Booker-” Joe sighed deeply, “that’s not healthy, please just meet us halfway.”

“You know, the orderlies at that psych house sure knew how to have their fun with a pliant body.” he regretted it as soon as he said it, but at least it shut them up. “So, I'm sorry, but drugs, it aint for me.” 

He turned back to the dishes, he didn’t want to see the way Joe’s eyes teared up and the way Nicky’s jaw clenched as his words sank in. They’d be out of here soon enough and then they could forget all about this, and forget about him. That’s what they wanted after all and he made a mental note to delete their contacts off his phone so that this wouldn’t happen again. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Nicky asked and he sounded so damn sad, almost brokenhearted, and Booker realised he’d been scrubbing this plate for much longer than necessary, “Why do you keep hiding these things from us?” 

Booker grabbed one of the glasses after setting the plate to dry, “Booker come on, talk to us.” Joe begged and the glass shattered in his hand, “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Booker forced out and pulled one of the shards out of his palm before rinsing off the blood, “Quit acting like you care.” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“I said,” he turned to face them again, “quit acting like you care.” 

“We’re not acting.” Joe took a step towards him but stopped when Booker backed up only to hit the counter right behind him, “We do care.” 

“Then why’d you leave me?” he didn’t mean to yell, he didn’t mean to even say that and he twisted around again, “You didn’t even let me explain.” 

He really seemed to have no control of what slipped out of his mouth today. 

“Explain what?” Joe’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he gently turned him to face him, “We weren’t ready to listen before, but we are now.” 

“Because you pity me now.” Booker knew he had no right to be mad but they had told him a century and now they were here and trying to what? Fix him? He couldn’t let himself believe it, not when they’d inevitably decide that their work here was done and leave again, or they’d just realise he wasn’t worth the effort. Neither option sounded good to him. “Please, just leave.” 

“Book-” Joe squeezed his shoulder and his eyes looked so earnest, Booker couldn’t take it.

“I can’t do this.” he batted his hand off and weakly shoved at Joe’s chest to get him to give him some space, which he fortunately did, “I’m sorry I called you and I’m sorry you feel like you need to help now but honest, I’ll be fine and we’ll see each other again in a few decades like planned.” 

“This isn’t fine though.” Nicky strode over and Booker sighed, “You have to see that too, right?”

“Why isn’t it fine?” he was so tired of this, “It works. Do you know what it feels like to have a panic attack? It feels like you can’t breathe, like your heart is beating so hard and so fast that it’ll break your rib cage and you can’t control the all encompassing  _ fear  _ of it all. So excuse me if this is too ‘unhealthy’ in your opinion, but it gives me an easy out and I come back not feeling like the world is ending anymore.” 

They just kept staring at him and he couldn’t take it and he walked past them to the door, opening it widely and waited. They followed him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Where are you going?” Joe asked and Booker shook his head, lips tugging upwards despite the lack of humour in all this.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said calmly, “you are. Get out of my apartment and we’ll see each other in ninety years.” 

He could see them gearing up for another fight but they must have come to the realisation he knew they would; he wasn’t worth it. 

At least they hugged him before they left. 


	3. Chapter 3

Booker had looked dejected when they left and although that sight haunted Joe, the part that really hurt had been how he hadn’t been surprised in the slightest. He had let them hug him but the embrace hadn’t felt warm like it usually would and if they hadn’t already planned on staying around, that in itself would have made them stay. 

It hadn’t felt right to leave but they had cornered him and like a scared animal, Booker had lashed out. They tried to figure out how to go about this whole thing but each time they thought they’d get somewhere, they realised it wouldn’t be appreciated or understood the way they intended. Nicky had suggested sneaking into Booker’s apartment and stealing everything he could hurt himself with but that left them with the risk of Booker not being able to protect himself and that really wasn’t the message they wanted to send. Joe suggested they kidnap him and Nicky had slapped him upside the head with a roll of his eyes, which Joe realised was well deserved in retrospect. 

“How about you go stay with him?” Nicky brings up three days after they left. 

“What?” 

“Having both of us there seemed to be too much for him, so if it’s just you-” he lets the words hang in the air for a moment, “Maybe he’ll be more willing to listen then.” 

“Why not you?” it’s not that Joe doesn’t want to go but he knows Nicky, and he knows he wouldn’t have specified who’d go without a reason. 

“Me and him,” Nicky starts, hesitating slightly, “our worldviews have never quite matched up. You’re more like him, that’s why you two were so close.” 

He has to look away, the past tense stinging a bit too much for his liking and he can’t help but wonder if his lover is wrong, just this once. Joe had thought that he knew Booker well, that he knew his ticks and triggers and habits better than any of the others but he wasn’t so sure now. Booker had always been tight-lipped about what was going on inside his head but Joe had thought he understood. He hadn’t pressed about the younger’s drinking habits or the way he’d occasionally pull away from the rest of them. He had seen it as coping mechanisms and although he didn’t approve of them, he couldn’t find it in himself to take them away from him. 

How could he not have realised what Booker had been doing to himself when they weren’t there? How could Joe call himself his brother when he didn’t even know just how badly he’s been suffering all this time? 

“I think you want to be with him too.” Nicky says softly and cups Joe’s face in his hands, leveling him with a gentle stare, “Just give this a shot, and then we’ll go from there.” 

“Okay.” he croaks out. 

* * *

  
  


Joe fidgets outside Booker’s door as he waits for it to open. He tries to smile when it finally does but Booker’s eyes widening in surprise makes him falter.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m living here now.” he raises his duffle bag as evidence and Booker scoffs.

“You had a fight with Nicky or something?”

“Not exactly.” he shakes his head and shoulders his way past the younger, “He’s helping the ladies on a mission.” 

“And you’re not there because?” Booker trails inside after him, eyeing him sceptically.

“I’m tired, thought this would be a good break.” Joe offers and throws himself onto the couch, “Plus, I’ve missed you.”

“I still have ninety years.” Booker says but seats himself on the couch with a defeated sigh, “You don’t have to be here.” 

“Yes I do.” 

Booker doesn’t seem convinced but at least he’s not insisting that he should leave like last time. He turns on the TV and tells Joe that he can get the couch if he really insists on staying and Joe nods his agreement, he’d sleep outside if Booker had asked it of him. He’s not leaving. 

The next few days pass in an odd atmosphere of normalcy. Booker goes to work and Joe spends the day exploring the city before going home and starting dinner for when Booker gets home. They watch TV together and chat about what’s been going on in the last decade or reminisce about old times. It’s nice and Joe feels like he might be making progress. But each morning, Booker looks surprised that he’s still there, he tries to hide it but Joe sees through him. 

Joe wishes Nicky was there in those moments.

One night, Joe wakes up to screaming. He lurches upright, gun drawn even in his barely awake state but he recognises the sound and rushes to Booker’s room. He opens the door and freezes for a second, it breaks his heart that he’s seen this before. Booker is tossing and turning on the bed, whimpers and yells mixing into one as his skin glistens with sweat. 

Just as Joe is about to stride over to him when Booker’s eyes snap open, a hand coming up to grip at his heaving chest. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Joe is there yet and he freezes again, unsure if his comfort would be appreciated or not. But Booker’s breath keeps stuttering and it takes on a wheezing sound. He looks terrified. 

He curls up on his side suddenly, facing away from him and then he sits up and to Joe’s horror, he has a gun in his hand. He’s pretty sure it’s only the way his hand is trembling that’s keeping him from pulling the trigger and Joe throws himself onto the bed and wrenches it out of his grip, throwing it onto the floor. 

Booker lets out a surprised yell and his eyes widen when he sees it’s him. It looks like he’s about to speak but no words come out over the way he’s struggling to pull air into his lungs. Joe wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. It’s an awkward position but he mumbles words of comfort as he strokes Booker’s hair. 

His breathing doesn’t slow down though, and Joe feels the front of his shirt get soaked in tears. He feels Booker fight with himself, clinging onto him for a moment before pushing at him to get away. 

“It’s okay.” Joe mumbles and holds him closer, “Just breathe.” 

And then, Booker slumps over in his hold. No more whimpers or choked back cries. Joe pulls back and to his surprise he finds Booker unconscious in his arms. It’s with dawning horror that he realises that he couldn’t have fallen asleep like that. He passed out. 

He maneuvers Booker so that he’s laying on his back and gently pats his face, trying to get him to wake up again, and eventually he does. He blinks his eyes open and Joe tries to smile reassuringly but it falls when Booker’s gaze hardens. 

“Fuck you.” Joe flinches at the harsh but raspy tone.

“What?”

Booker doesn’t answer, and sits up, running a frustrated hand through greasy hair and to Joe’s worry, his breathing starts picking up again. He’s sweaty and pale, eyes darting around the room despite Joe’s efforts to get him to look at him. Booker flinches when Joe grabs him and he’s unsure whether to hold on or to let go. Booker makes the decision for him though, because he gets up on shaky legs, chest heaving as he stumbles out of the room. He’s saying something but Joe can’t make out the words and trails after him awkwardly, desperately wanting to reach out to steady him but resisting the urge. 

Booker gets himself a glass of water but he spills most of it and Joe can only watch as the frustration on Booker’s face slips into downright rage. He slams the glass on the floor and it shatters to pieces. 

“Fuck!” Booker yells and then he grabs a plate from the drying rack and throws that on the ground as well.

“Booker stop!” Joe rushes towards him

“Stay away from me.” Booker practically growls but it’s not particularly intimidating when his legs give out from under him right after, “Fuck you, Joe.” he mutters. 

“Hey, you just gotta breathe.” Joe kneels down in front of him but makes sure to keep some distance, “Match my breath.” 

He takes an exaggerated breath and holds it, just as he tries to hold Booker’s gaze but the younger just rolls his eyes at him. Before Joe even has the time to process what’s happening, Booker has grabbed one of the shards off the ground and stabs himself in the neck. Blood sprays when he pulls it out and Joe falls back in his surprise as some hit his face. 

He’s too shocked to do anything but watch as Booker chokes and gurgles on his own blood before he collapses. His chest finally stops heaving, it stills completely. Joe shakily crawls towards him and waits with bated breath for him to come back. His hand trembles as he places it on Booker’s neck, desperately feeling for the wound on his neck under all the blood and he lets out a stuttering breath of relief when he feels it healing. 

Booker gasps awake just a few seconds later and Joe can’t control himself, and he slaps him, hard across his face, “You fucking asshole!” 

He smiles lazily up at him, teeth red, “Takes one to know one.” 

There’s so much Joe wants to say but his mouth won't cooperate so instead he helps Booker get up and pulls him to the bathroom. He moves sluggishly and he seems too tired to even get his shirt over his head so Joe does it for him, and then he takes off his pants and forces him into the tub. Joe sits down on the edge behind Booker and turns on the shower, making sure the water isn’t too cold before he brings the showerhead down to wash the blood off.

“I just wanted to get rid of it.” Booker mumbles as he lets Joe pull him up to dry him off. 

“There are other ways to do it.” even as he says it, he feels like a fraud, he’d been no help in calming him down earlier, “We need to figure something out, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes I can.”

“I won’t let you.” Joe clarifies, “I can’t watch you do this.” 

“Then leave.” Booker says and rips the towel out of Joe’s grip to wrap it around his waist, “You got some blood on your face,” he says nonchalantly as he walks away, “might wanna wash that off.” 

Joe sighs and he might take longer than necessary to clean himself off. Booker is walking out of the kitchen and barely spares him a glance as he passes him to go back to his room. This is so fucked up. Joe hesitates for only a moment before he follows him, neither say a word when he crawls into bed but Booker stiffens when he wraps his arms around him. 

“Why are you pushing me away?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Booker sighs, “You’ll leave once you’ve decided you’ve fixed me enough or you’ll just give up when you finally realise it’s pointless.” 

“I won’t.” 

“I still have ninety years,” Booker says again, it’s starting to sound like a damn mantra, “you seem to have forgotten that.” 

“Nicky is bringing the others, we’re going to talk about this, all of us.” Joe whispers and pulls Booker even closer, he’s still so tense.

It’s silent for a while and Joe feels himself start to drift off.

“Everyone I love leaves me.” Booker whispers into the night. 


	4. Chapter 4

Booker had fallen asleep with Joe’s warmth embracing him from behind. 

It doesn’t surprise him in the slightest that he wakes up feeling nothing but cold. The past few days he and Joe spent together had been… nice. It had felt normal even as doubt festered deep in his chest. He had tried to enjoy it, knowing full and well that it wouldn’t last long.

And now that has been confirmed. 

He sluggishly pulls himself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion heavy in his bones and it’s with a sense of grief that he realises that the load had been lighter when he wasn’t alone. He should have turned Joe away like his instincts had yelled at him to do when he first opened the door for him. If only he wasn’t so weak. 

He pours himself a glass of water, reminding himself that it won’t taste of salt anymore, and stares out the window. The sun is rising and he’s distantly aware that he should find it beautiful, the way the streets are lit anew in a warm glow. How long has he lived here now? Five years? Ten? He can’t remember. 

Maybe a change of scenery would help. 

He heaves a heavy sigh and pulls out his laptop. As he waits for it to boot up he sips his water, shivering slighly even though his apartment has perfectly accaptable heating. Heading south still seems like a good idea, it’s been quite a while since he was last in Senegal. He’s pretty sure the others aren’t there and it’s well within due time that he cleans up the safehouse in Dakar. He’s already done so to most their safe houses in west Europe. 

He has a flight booked for that evening and sets about clearing out his apartment, packing up only the essencials for the trip. His eyes linger for a moment on the suitcase Joe left behind. For a moment he lets himself believe that he’ll be back for it - for him - but he pushes the falsetie down. After how he acted last night it doesn’t surprise him that Joe would have left for good. Probably already halfway to meet up with the others to tell them just how much of a danger Booker is to them, now that he knows just how unstable he is. 

Booker doesn’t realise he’s punched the wall until he feels a bit of blood trickle down from his knuckle and down his finger. The pain of the dislocated joints soon follows and he groans, craddling his hand to his chest as he leans forward to rest his forehead against the wall. There’s a crack as they pop back into place and the pain eases yet the stray tear that had escaped multiplies, cascading down his face as an ugly sob crawls its way up his throat. 

_ Goddamnit!  _

He angrily wipes at his face and settles in front of his laptop again, sending a quick email to his employer that he’s quitting. It’s not allowed in his contract, to just up and leave like this without warning but he doesn’t care, there are plenty of teens looking to be hired for a part time job. 

The tears are still rolling down his face as he shoves the computer into his backpack but at least he manages to keep his voice steady as he calls for a taxi. He releases a shaky breath, splashes his face with cold water and wills himself to stop crying as he does a final sweep of the apartment, unplugging electronics and making sure he’s not leaving anything incriminating behind. It’s become second nature by now, to clean up all tracks and traces of himself. As if he doesn’t exsist.

But he does. 

He does exist and that’s the problem. At least the others have never called it a blessing but they don’t seem to believe it’s a curse as he does. Sure, Andy isn’t as optimistic as Nicky and Joe, but she also isn’t as weak as Booker is. She’d been without her lover for longer than he has and she was taken so unfairly. Booker doesn’t think he would have been able to go on as Andy has been if he’d have known what suffering the love of his life was going through. 

But at least Quynh wasn’t suffering any longer. Her and Andy had been reunited and although they were bitter about the fact that their time was now limited with Andy’s immortality gone, they’d try to make the best of it. Booker was sure of it, in the short time he’d spent alone with Quynh, he had been able to tell that she was better than him despite what she’s been through. Even as she beat him up and stabbed him for intel about the others, he could see that there was something undeniably  _ good _ in her. 

The day he got to reunite her with the others had been simultanously the best and the worst day. The best day becuase he got to see them all, because he got to see a tragedy become something beautiful again. He got to see Andy smile even as tears streamed down her face and he got to see Joe and Nicky pull Quynh in for hugs so tight and comforting that her shoulders finally dropped as the tension of the weeks she’d spent with Booker bled out. She was home, finally. 

And that is also why it was the worst day. Because he got to see his home and immedietly had to leave it, knowing that his return would never be filled with such warm emotions again. 

Booker shook his head and angrily wiped at his face, cursing his mind for drifting so easily into the territory of jealousy. He had no right to feel it and so he grabbed his suitcase and shouldered the backpack, walking out of the apartment with hasty steps. 

He just needed to get away. He needed to relearn what being alone meant until his sentence was up and hope that the others would believe that he wasn’t as damaged as Joe and Nicky had observed him to be. Surely he’d be able to convince them that he’d have gotten better in ninety years, right? 

Right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> This is a request fill from an ask on Tumblr, come talk to me over there pls:  
> [EbbaTriesToWrite](https://ebbatriestowrite.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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